Through Stained Glass: Who Are We--Everything

Guiding us this Lent is the question “Who are we?” On Wednesday’s we are learning what it means to be ourselves and to live as God created us to be. This is God’s desire for us—to be our true selves. To be our true selves, as we have discussed and continue to discover, means allowing God to find and reveal our true selves to us.  

            Did you know that in both the Hebrew and Christian scriptures, the heart is the place of divine movement where spiritual transformation occurs?

            The question asked of us a few weeks ago was, “What does this door to your heart look like?” I asked those participating to create a piece of art describing the door. Some used poetry, some painted pictures, and one even created a piece of music.

            The follow-up question was: What is on the other side of the door?

            For next week, we will explore what stands in the way of opening the door to others? Or to ourselves?

            It is my hope you will participate with us.

(Below is the description to my artwork above. The poem is a work in progress, as we all are.)

Mine is a door weathered and worn.

The years show.

It is a heavy door that slams as it closes—always.

The wood has faded and is rough as a cat’s tongue.

Still, the doors are noticeable. Admirable.

The handle is black, metal, cold. Silver in some places. Used.

Even if it is unlocked, it doesn’t open at first. A good tug is required.

The frame is vintage before it was cool. Standard and strong.

Cement and brick highlight the details in the woodworking.

The big bad wolf didn’t even bother to try. Sturdy. Often unsteady.

An original door. The conversation will happen.

“But the cracks are where the light gets in?”

The way is paved with Truth. Half-truths. Promise. Sarcasm. Fear. Hope.

“And where the energy escapes.”

The door is beautiful, a little messy, and charming. Dependable.

Notice the steps—a bit wonky and chipped.

The sun glares off the glass; what is on the other side is its reflection.

Ivy clings, weaves its way around the arch and waterfalls through, too.

The door is more than wood; it is the place where Wisdom enters.

Slipping messages under the door is easy since the sweep was swept away.

The threshold is all but gone; the jamb is unemployed.

Puzzling this door still works.

The hinges need oiling; the transom bows out; the strike plate picked too many times.

Love knocks on this secret door—

The door remains, though it changes, too.

Transparent, yet opaque. It is a knowing place only accessible by unknowing everything.

The Door of Divinity, yes—a channel of love.

Great Door of Love. Heavy Door. God, the 'Opener and Closer of Doors'--

“I am the gate…” Jesus 

“I am the Door…” Buddha

“A door opens in the center of our being and we seem to fall through it into the immense depths which, although they are infinite, are all accessible to us.” Merton

 The Center is on the other side.

The door swings free.

 The door is locked.

Listen.
Ask.
Wait.

The voice behind this door is my revelation, too:

“I will come in and eat with you, and you with me…” 3.20

The Voice calls out to everyone; it knocks on this weathered and worn door.

Knock. With Wisdom, it is never a joke.
Open it--everything, everything, is waiting for you.